Knowing it’s the last time they savour it
Every sense alive and desperate to devour
Force themselves to eke out each morsel, crumb, sight, sound
To etch upon memory for when there’s
Nothing, none, all gone
Living on memories shrouded in silver light
The little things ingrained and sharpened
Did they say this? Feel that?
Were parts harmlessly imagined
To apply a balm to the wound an ending day brings
Does it matter if the essence is unchanged?
If the truth is polished like glistening silver
Perfume from flowers which bloomed longer
In images they create to remember a brighter day
They look only to replicate a better future
So let them make it their perfect
Their wonderful may be your mundane
Does it matter if it glints a shade brighter?
Illuminating the end
Allow the poet license, the storyteller space
All of us have a tale to tell
Tell it your way with grace to return the same favour